Ties That Bind
by Joon
Summary: A sequel to Formalities. Harry attempts to retrieve his lost ghost. TVSeriesverse. AU for Things That Go Bump. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

After the fourth attempt, Harry thought it best to take a break. The acrid smell of the last failed casting was making him slightly dizzy and he doubted his floor could withstand another hit so soon. Plus, he was probably pushing it that Morgan wouldn't have noticed something by now.

Even in his world where dragons existed and the hands of dead thieves possessed human bodies, there were still events and people who managed to surprise Harry. Morgan had actually done him an unsolicited favor without asking for anything in return. There had been some vague threats involved, but for Morgan that was reflexive. It was a small concession considering he was offering to let up on his vigilance of Harry's activities. Not exactly a blind eye. More of a cursory eye. And Harry didn't intend to make it hard for the warden to do so.

Passing under the radar of the High Council when attempting a retrieve a spirit lost to the Other Side was no easy task. It involved timing, patience and a whole lot of planning. Three talents where Harry knew he was normally bankrupt. Still, he'd concentrated and paced himself carefully.

A call from Murphy usually meant something supernatural was happening to a poor civilian in Chicago. And while it sometimes wasn't much, Harry could lay a safe bet that during these bursts of otherworldly activities, Morgan's attentions were probably divided. He'd help Murphy as quickly as possible, usually spending at most a day on research and shoving the lead in her direction and then spending the rest of the time trying out his castings. Harry actually thought he was doing a pretty good job with being organized.

Bob would have been proud.

Still, nothing was ideal. Timing constraints required Harry to cut his consulting fee of $500 a day, two day minimum to pretty much $60 an hour, two hour maximum. Murphy's frustrations at his lack of commitment had soon melted into a quiet, if sad understanding soon after she paid him a visit and seen the state of his apartment and appearance. Whatever he was wrapped up in, he obviously wasn't going to return to normal until he was done with whatever he needed to do. The shift in the lieutenant's manner had gone largely unnoticed by Harry. He hadn't even noticed that lately all she did was call to just report, never asking for help he couldn't give her over the phone.

Harry only noticed how his heart surged with anticipation every time the phone rang. Another possible supernatural event. Another possible chance for him to use the moment to try and bring Bob back. And then he realized one day that he was actually wishing a skin walker was out there terrorizing the city so that he'd have a longer time to test out the pages of spells he'd been working on.

Perhaps Bob wouldn't have been so proud after all.

The fifth try ended with a hole in Harry's floor. The sigils he'd drawn into the wood were now burnt away, leaving the wizard holding an overcharged hockey stick, the acrid scent now overpowering and no Bob. Not even a flicker to indicate he was even close. The linger smoke stung Harry's eyes as he stared at the ruins of his work area. In the aftermath of the moderate explosion, the lab sounded unnaturally quiet. The hockey stick that had normally hummed after the first four casting attempts now felt still and cold from the overuse. The stillness of everything seemed to underline Harry's solitude and thus, his failure.

"Dammit," he whispered, staring at the hole which now should have been occupied by a familiar ghostly figure. "Dammit!"

Twisting the hockey stick around, he drove one end into the hole in an angered gesture. The wood groaned under the attack. "Dammit! Dammit! DAMMIT!" he shouted, slamming the floor with each word. After exhausting whatever energy he had left, Harry sat abruptly down next to the now enlarged hole on the floor. He was running out of ideas. Or rather, he had used up his last idea. Multiple studies of his uncle's books led to possible spells that led to nothing more than killed hopes and damaged woodwork. Now he had exhausted the last spell he could find in the book and nothing to show for it. "Useless!" he growled, taking another hit at the charred remains.

"_Yes, that'll teach the floor for its ill behavior."_

Despite his mood, a low chuckle escaped Harry's lips. Bob would say something like that. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he murmured, eyeing the skull that was resting in the armoire. "It's not the floor's fault I suck." Bob so wasn't going to be happy with the level of chaos the entire apartment was currently in. If a few unwashed dishes in the sink got the ghost to bemoan Harry's lack of cleanliness, the virtual towers of dirty kitchenware strewn about the storefront, bedroom, lab and kitchen were going to send him into a conniption. The wizard heaved a sigh.

"Well, I always hated the anticipation of good brow beating," Harry continued, pushing himself off the floor. "Better get you back so you can let me have it already."

Scrubbing his face with his hands, he tried to wipe some of the tiredness out of his system. He had to figure out a new angle.


	2. Chapter 2

Being at the receiving end of someone's unrelenting hatred was a familiar position for Harry Dresden. It went along with the whole mystique that surrounded him after it became well known within the magical community what sort of fate Justin Morningway had met with. So the years of becoming conditioned to ostracism came in handy for Harry as a series of metaphorical doors were slammed in his face once he'd barely gotten his question out.

Then again, he supposed that considering his reputation for being "that wizard who killed his uncle using black magic, self-defense my ass" it wasn't exactly tactful of him to ask those who'd meet with him if they knew of a spell to bring back a spirit from the Other Side. Those who had been kind enough not to leave instantaneously had been brave enough to inquire if Harry "had lost his flipping mind?" or "had a death wish?" and usually followed those questions up with warnings "never to contact me again" and "if I see you again, I'll report you on spot." All in all, Harry thought it a nice waste of bribes he couldn't afford in the first place to even get the meets.

And then life threw Harry Dresden one more surprise.

Despite the well-displayed "Closed" sign, there was persistent knocking at the door that finally pulled Harry from the depths of his lab. Through the dusty windows that could have benefited from a good wash, the wizard could make out the outline of a man.

"Read the sign! I'm closed!" Harry shouted from his place in the hall.

"Harry? It's me. Dante Arrias?"

"That's great. I'm still closed," replied Harry. Then he paused, thinking on the name. "Wait, who?"

"Dante Arrias," repeated the young man. "You…um…helped me out when Caleb -"

"Dante?" Harry approached the door and as he did, the outline became clearer until he could see a pair of clear green eyes set in a dark face. The curly hair which had previously been haphazardly sprawled over his head was now closely cut, giving him a more defining, mature look. But it was definitely the same kid Harry remembered. He pulled the door open to finally give himself a clear view.

The arrival smiled at the surprised expression on the wizard's face. "Hey, Harry. Good to see you again."

"Uh…yeah," replied Harry, confusion taking place of the initial shock. The last time he'd seen Dante, the college student had been laid up in the hospital, awaiting the High Council's intervention to rescue him from charges of theft on multiple accounts. "What…what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see you," answered Dante, good-naturedly. His tone suggested he was popping in to take Harry out for a drink. "Can I come in?" At seeing the reluctance on the wizard's face, the former college student's smile dipped into a more serious, conspiratorial expression. "Just for a few minutes, Harry. Really."

With a sigh, the wizard moved to the side to allow Dante through. Taking in his surroundings, the younger man noted that Dresden's office could do with some proper ventilation. As well as an army of maids. The place looked worse than his old frat house.

"Look, Dante, I'm kind of busy with some stuff right now," Harry began.

"It's okay," Dante waved off. "I know. You've been trying to locate your missing friend. The one that went to the Other Side."

The wizard's eyes narrowed. "Who told you that?"

Dante gave him a wry smile. "First lesson that they teach you is to be ever vigilant."

"Those High Council guys grooming you already?"

The former student shrugged. "Beats prison." He caught the look on Harry's face. "No, no, it's not like that, Harry. I'm not spying on you for them or anything."

"So what are you doing?" demanded Harry.

"I know you've been asking around about finding a way to get your friend back," he replied, hurriedly. "I think I might know someone who can help you." While the tense stance of the wizard hadn't let up, Dante took his silence as invitation to continue. "The wardens have…someone that they're currently keeping under wraps outside the city. They sort of have me as his keeper while he's here."

"Why you?" Harry interrupted.

"The work's not hard. But it just requires someone who can stay focused with a high tolerance against temptation."

"And they picked you?" asked Harry, skeptically. "Not to sound judgmental here, Dante, but the whole reason why we even met was because you were seduced by a ghost."

Dante's face clouded over. "As weak as it sounds, I learned my lesson on trying to make deals with spirits. That trickster can offer me the whole universe and I'd turn him down flat."

"A trickster? You're telling me to go see a trickster for help? Are you crazy?" demanded Harry, unintentionally mimicking the question he'd been hearing all week from everyone.

"He's no ordinary trickster," assured Dante. "I'm telling you, Harry. This guy is your best shot at making contact with the Other Side." Digging into the bag that was slung over his shoulder, Dante drew out a folder. He held out the thick file to Harry. "Take it. Read it over. I put a number in there where you can reach me. If you're interested I can sneak you in a meeting with him."

Harry stared at the outstretched folder before closing his own hand over it. The thick sheaf of papers weighed heavily in his hand. "Even if this guy's not an average trickster, his help will come at a price."

Dante nodded solemnly. "I'm sure you're right. But," he added. "From what I hear, you're getting close to paying some high prices anyway to find a spell to locate what you've lost."

Gripping the pages, the wizard drew them closer to his chest. "You're right," he admitted, quietly.

"My number is in there. It's a private line. No High Council," assured Dante.

"Why are you helping me?"

The young man chuckled at the bewildered tone in Harry's voice. "Because you helped me, man. I'd be in jail or worse, dead if it weren't for you. You gave me another chance to start over with a new life. Why wouldn't I help you?"

Harry convinced himself the overwhelming urge to cry at the unfamiliar words of support coming from someone other than Bob was just due to exhaustion. "And you're going to throw away all my hard work by helping me, huh?" he joked, weakly.

Dante grinned. "Well, if I am going to screw up. I might as well do it for your sake."


	3. Chapter 3

It took Harry the rest of the day to read through the file Dante had given him. To the trainee's credit, the subject really wasn't an average trickster. Far from it. And that only meant Harry would have to be especially cautious and accurate in his actions. Another pair of talents he was sorely lacking in. But this was about Bob and it seemed only fitting to do things the way Bob had often lectured, hassled and in the end, plainly nagged Harry to do. Which was to be prepared. The wizard sat down and wrote out some detailed notes for himself to help him out at the meeting.

The next morning he called Dante.

By late in the afternoon, Harry was directing his Jeep toward the edge of the city. Heavy traffic soon trickled into almost nothing as he got further and further away from the town's busy center. Soon the only car on the road was his, making its way through a quiet neighborhood that seemed to feature decrepit garages as its main real estate. He easily spotted Dante before even getting out of the car. The young man was standing in front of a looked like an abandoned lot. Along with his shoulder bag from before, he now also carried a paper bag.

"Find the area alright?" asked Dante.

Harry nodded. "What is all this anyway? I passed about six different garages over here."

"Abandoned mostly. This area was where most of the town's buses and trucks came to get fixed. It used to be full of business before the city started to rely more heavily on cabs and the train."

"Thanks for the history lesson, Dante." remarked Harry, sarcastically.

"Hey, you asked," he shrugged. "Anyway, you're meeting in the motel."

Casting an eye around the dilapidated surroundings, the wizard spotted nothing other than industrial waste. "What motel?"

"This one."

Harry could have sworn the space behind Dante had been an empty lot. Now it seemed there was a fully functioning albeit decrepit-looking motel there, equipped with even the requisite flickering neon "NO VACANCY" sign. The wizard blinked. "Um. That did just appear, right?"

"It's always been there. We just make sure people don't really see it." Dante's tone had the faintest trace of smugness that often tended to creep up amongst members of the Council.

"Cute," commented Harry as he followed Dante toward the structure. The front entrance led to a tiny lobby that was empty of any other guests or an employee. Walking with the assurance of someone who knew the place well, Dante led Harry down a ground floor hall, stopping in front of a door marked 7. The door had hinges and a keyhole, though no doorknob.

"Okay," said Dante. "First things first, you'll need to wear this." From the paper bag, he pulled out a bright yellow rain poncho. "It'll render you virtually invisible from anyone in case someone does a surprise visit," defended Dante, off of Harry's raised eyebrow.

"I don't need to wear the hood, do I?" asked Harry, pulling it on.

"It'll work either way," said Dante, looking proud. "The mixture I coated it with took forever."

"What was in it?" The poncho smelled faintly of plastic and something slightly musky.

"Tears from 10 different wallflowers and 10 different freshly jilted lovers. Seriously, man. Took. Forever."

Wordlessly, Harry smoothed out the creases in the poncho.

"You have an hour," continued Dante. "And give him this," he instructed, handing Harry the paper bag. "I'll wait for you out here." Reaching into his pocket, Dante took out a small plastic stick that looked suspiciously like a cocktail stirrer. Sticking one end into the keyhole, the opening glowed once before there was an audible click.

"You disguised the key as a cocktail stirrer?" inquired Harry.

"Asks the man who uses a hockey stick as his staff," replied Dante.

"Point taken."

Dante pressed a hand on the door to push it open. "Ready?"

Harry nodded. "Listen, Dante. Thank you. I really mean that."

"You helped me and I was a complete stranger," said Dante. "More people should help out someone like you, Harry."

With a last smile, Dante pushed the door open.

There was an audible hiss, as if the room was sighing. A warm puff of air lightly hit Harry's face as he walked through. The inside looked like any other motel room the wizard had seen. Except there wasn't a single piece of furniture or another door that could lead to a bathroom or closet. In the middle of the square space was what looked like a stone bench, only more jagged in cut and less polished-looking. On the slab lay a man in pajamas, who sat up at the sounds of Harry's entrance. When he turned his head toward the wizard, Harry saw he wore a pair of small, round sunglasses that completely obscured his eyes. Or rather the lack thereof.

There was a brief silence before Harry dug out his notes from his jacket pocket, which was made more difficult by the rain poncho. After several seconds of plastic rustling, he extracted the first page. Clearing his throat, he carefully began, "I have come seeking a boon from the imprisoned deity who has gone by – "

"Do you have the magazines?" interrupted the man.

"What?"

"Dante usually brings me magazines to pass the time and since he's broken his normally stalwart tradition of following rules by letting you in, I'm hoping he gave you my magazines."

"Right. Yeah, here." Carefully, Harry placed the paper bag in the man's hands, who casually upturned the entire collection onto his lap.

Taking one at random, he began to flip through it, running a hand over the glossy pages. Every other page, he'd tear off with neat precision. "Go on," he waved. "You were saying something about a boon?"

Clearing his throat again, Harry continued. "Yes, I have come seeking –"

"What's your name?"

"Harry Dresden."

"Oh, YOU'RE Harry Dresden."

"You've heard of me?"

"Actually, no," admitted the trickster, tearing off more pages. "I just wanted to make you more comfortable. Want to sit down, Harry?"

Harry looked around to see if a chair was going to appear. When none did, he awkwardly bent his legs to sit on the floor. "Anyway," he started.

"Want to take off the poncho? Smells new."

"I can't."

"Fair enough. Just want to make sure you're comfortable."

"I'm fine," gritted Harry through his teeth.

"Great!" the trickster said, brightly. He tore more pages out. "Carry on."

The rhythmical and therefore annoying sound of paper ripping began to rapidly grate on Harry's nerves. He shoved his notes away. "Dante told me you might know of a way to bring someone back from the Other Side."

"Oh, that." Looking mildly scornful, the other man moved onto a second magazine.

"Bringing humans back from the dead isn't exactly jaw-dropping, but you wizards seem to have some weird fascination with it."

"The one I want to bring back was already dead before he went over."

"Yeah, it tends to work like that. Death first and then the Other Side."

"No, I mean he wasn't supposed to cross over. He was supposed to stay rooted to his skull," explained Harry.

Finally the paper ripping stopped. The trickster sat up a little straighter, interest peeking out on his face. The thin pajamas he wore stretched as he shifted, revealing a small triangle patch of skin just below the collar. The wizard saw something encircling the man's neck like a piece of vine. Only it looked more like a piece of small intestine. And judging by the slight bulges around his torso, the thing was twisted around his entire body underneath the clothes.

"Interesting," he said, tossing the magazine to one side. "What's the name of your ghost?"

"Bob. Hrothbert of Bainbridge," Harry clarified.

"I think I've heard of him," he mused. "Oh, right. He was THAT wizard. I was vaguely curious where he'd ended up. So you're the current keeper of his skull? Interesting." He said the word as if it was synonymous with 'how the hell did a loser like you end up with something so awesome?'

"The Council sentenced him to the skull for eternity. By going over to the Other Side, he broke the sentence for his crime. I'm making sure the punishment continues," stated Harry.

"Very thoughtful of you. Or maybe you want him back so you can have your own Magic Google search engine."

"Does it matter?" demanded Harry.

"You know, for a guy asking me for a favor, you're not exactly forthcoming with the truth."

"Pretty rich coming from you," retorted the wizard. "I thought tricksters were supposed to be familiar with lying."

"So you admit you don't want him back just for the sake of some High Council boot licking?"

After a minute of hard staring, Harry admitted a grudging "No."

The trickster nodded, looking satisfied. "So what is the reason?"

"Bob is…he's a friend. And I let him go out to the Other Side and I lost him," began Harry. Even as he felt reluctance to tell the trickster everything, the sheer act of telling someone what had happened to Bob seemed to unlock the anxiety that had been steadily present since the ghost had gone missing.

"I tried summoning him back, but the connection was broken. I've been trying every spell I can find and nothing. But I can't leave him there to wander around forever. He was probably looking for the way back when we got transported out," said Harry, wearing a worried expression. "He might think I abandoned him. But I'd never do that. He knows I'd never-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get the picture." The man held up a restraining hand. "No need to pour out your heart to me. Jeez, I just met you." Pushing the magazines off his lap, the trickster stood up and leaned against his stone seat. "Well, I do have something you could use. It'd be a lot easier if I could just do it myself, but sadly I'm a bit detained. But you could probably manage."

"That's it? You're going to help me?" asked Harry.

"You sound surprised."

"What do you want in return?"

"What makes you think I want anything in return?" he asked, innocently.

"So you, a trickster, are going to give me what I want out, pro bono, out of the generosity of your heart."

"I detect a note of sarcasm."

"You of all people do not do favors without a price," said Harry, firmly. "I want to hear what you want in return _from me_," he stressed. "In exchange for a spell that will _successfully _bring back Bob from the Other Side for good. There's to be no time limit as in I get him back for only an hour or something like that. Your spell needs to ensure that Bob is back, attached to the skull just the way the Council had it. I want to know your price for a spell like that before I agree to it."

"Jeez, you're demanding," complained the trickster. "And rather specific in your wording," he added, sounding disappointed. "So suspicious. Not everything in my file is completely true, you know." He walked around the stone structure, all the while keeping a hand on it as he circled its perimeter. "Okay, fine. For the price of a spell to bring back your friend, I ask in return that you sing me a song."

There was a beat. "What?"

"A song. Any one you like," offered the man, generously. "You sing me a song and I'll give you a spell for the ghost. Agreed?"

"You want me to sing to you?"

"A full length song. None of that nursery rhyme crap."

"And that's all you want?" asked Harry, suspiciously.

"Look around, Harry." The trickster gestured with his free hand, looking frustrated. "I'm stuck in a motel room where I can't even walk from one end of the room to the other. Of course a song isn't all I want!" he snapped. "As depressingly pathetic as it is, your request is the most interesting that's happened since that one time Dante's predecessor accidentally spilled coffee on himself in my presence. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to go from being able to control the course of existence to being a prisoner in pajamas?"

Harry remained silent.

"Maybe not you. You practically scream underachiever. But I bet Bainbridge could sympathize."

"But it was worse for you before," said Harry. "You're safe now and you have someone looking out for you."

The man sighed, shaking his head. "You're so limited. I went from conversing with the Gods to talking to some wizard plebe."

"That's me."

"What I really want, I know you can't give me. And frankly, everything else kind of pales in comparison so it might as well be a song."

"But why singing?"

He shrugged. "Why should I be the only one feeling stupid right now?"

A tone-deaf rendition of "Moon River" later, Harry was taking notes as the trickster gave instructions to the spell. By the time they were done, the hour was nearly up.

"And this will work?" asked Harry, looking over his writing.

"A deal is a deal," replied the trickster, perched back on his stone.

"Okay…thanks," said Harry at the lack of anything else to say.

"Just one question," said the trickster, as Harry turned to go. "How long has your ghost been gone?"

Harry mentally tracked through how long he'd been in this nightmare. "About six weeks."

The trickster winced. "Yikes. Well, good luck."

"Wait, what does that mean?" demanded Harry. "You said this spell would bring Bob back. THAT was the deal!"

"Calm down. The spell will work. I'm just saying…six weeks. That's a long time to be wandering around on the Other Side, as you wizards so quaintly call it. I'm sure he's had plenty of time to get reacquainted with some people from his past."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Meaning?"

"Well, you go there and you can be sure to meet lots of people who you knew before. And the Hrothbert of Bainbridge that I've heard of tended to piss off a LOT of people. I'm sure there's probably a line to get to him."

"But…the Other Side is a neutral zone. They can't do anything to him there," said Harry. A cold trickle of nervousness began to spread in his chest.

"Well, physically no," agreed the trickster. "But there are lots of ways to torment someone. And if you're surrounded by constant torture, you start to lose a little of yourself to it," he murmured, leaning closer toward Harry. "Anyone and anything can go crazy." From where he stood, the wizard got a better view of small intestines that encircled the trickster's body, the ripped organ tightening every now and again. The sight reminded Harry more clearly who he was dealing with and he could see his own troubled face reflected in the black lenses of the trickster's sunglasses.

But the wizard swallowed back his doubts. "I know Bob. He'll be fine," he stated firmly.

The trickster smiled. "Your loyalty to your friend is touching. And a little stupid."

The door hissed back open, exactly one hour after Dante had closed it behind Harry. The wizard exited without a glance back at the trickster, who waved regardless. "Either way, very amusing."


	4. Chapter 4

The sun had set by the time Harry reached his apartment. Any candles he'd lit before leaving his place had long extinguished and the storefront felt unusually cold and dark. He wondered if Murphy had tried calling him while he was out. His answering machine, which had valiantly attempted to function months ago had finally given out and was only functioning as a paperweight. He would have to call her to see if there had been anything odd going on around the city to ensure he'd be safe from Morgan's eye while attempting the newly acquired spell.

Most likely there would be nothing. And if he was smart, he'd have to wait until something did happen.

But the trickster's words haunted him. Had he really left Bob to six weeks of never-ending torment on the Other Side? Denial stressed to Harry that the trickster could have very well been lying to simply needle him. By nature tricksters lied as easily as men breathed. But it was just as equally possible that he'd been telling the truth. And if he had, could Harry really wait another week, potentially even a month before performing the ritual to get Bob back?

"Screw it," muttered the wizard. Throwing off his coat onto a nearby desk, he marched determinedly down the hall and into his lab.

The spell the trickster had provided was more or less a modification of one Harry had already tried. The wizard had everything he needed to perform it. The only material he was low on being adequate floor space. Quickly he dumped his uncle's books off the main work table, throwing them in a pile into a haphazard pile in the corner. The work table he shoved over until there was enough undamaged area for him to work on.

Crouching down with his notes, Harry began to carefully draw the sigils in a circular pattern into the wood. Impatience made him want to hurry, but as the trickster had warned against that. _"The devil is in the details. Really. You draw a line wrong and you're going to get Odin knows what."_

Finishing the first circle of writings, Harry switched over to another piece of chalk to write the second circle that was to encircle the first.

_"First ring is to make contact with the Other Side. The second ring you'll specify what keeps your ghost earthbound. That's kind of your pledge to re-establish the connection he has to this world." _

A part of Harry wanted to write out that Bob was earthbound because it was his lot in death to keep an orphaned wizard company lest he fall into loneliness and despair. Instead he wrote out Bob's misguided attempt at resurrection.

_"Write the last symbol in the middle of the two rings. This is to root all the energy to that one spot. It looks a lot like one of the symbols on his skull, I'm sure, so be careful when writing it out. One wrong chalk swipe and you'll end up binding your ghost to the floor for all eternity." _

Harry slowed his drawing down to a near crawl as he methodically drew out the sigil.

_"The skull goes in the middle of rings, over the last sigil."_

Carefully, he lifted the skull from the safety of the armoire. The last time Morgan had picked it up, Harry had known the warden noticed the lightness of the bones. Harry hated how fragile it felt. Strong and resilient were qualities he'd often attributed to the skull as well as the ghost it housed. Or stubborn and 'unfortunately indestructible' when Bob was being particularly vocal with his evaluations on Harry's lifestyle. Now, the wizard would gladly listen to endless amounts of criticisms if it meant there would be some substantial weight between his hands again when he picked up the skull.

_"Now the fun part for you. Nothing boosts up a summoning like a little blood. As the official keeper of the skull, you get to make the donation."_

Technically, this was where Harry knew the spell got a little tricky. He wasn't going to be sacrificing anything so that more or less ruled the ritual out as being black magic. Plus, he wasn't harming anyone else while doing it. But blood, though technically his own and not even that much of it, was still being spilt. That would most likely be the key factor to set off alarms on Morgan's watch. Still, there was nothing to be done.

Readying a blade against his left palm, Harry stood over the skull, just at the edges of the double rings and concentrated. He could feel the energy beneath his skin tingle and hum as he centered everything he had on the object that sat in the middle. As the magic in his veins built up, he sliced the knife into his hand. Blood that flowed with all his concentrated energy oozed out from the center of his palm. As the first few drops fell, Harry drew in a breath and softly, but firmly spoke.

"Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I summon you."

As the words left his lips, the blood that had dripped onto the skull snaked quickly along the surface, seeping into the crevices made by the symbols etched into it. The symbols then glowed brightly, illuminating the bone. In an instant, a black cloud swirled up around the skull, engulfing it completely. The column of smoke rose up near to the ceiling of Harry's lab, though it stayed confined within the circles.

Reflexively, the wizard stepped back. At the lack of form in the blackness, Harry wondered for a horrified minute if he'd accidentally ripped an opening to the Other Side, causing the essence of it to leak through. But before panic could fully set in, a small sphere made of orange light appeared at the top of the column. It remained still for a brief moment before swirling down toward the floor in a bright flash. Following it, the swirls of dark cloud rushed into the top of the brightly lit skull in a whirlpool of inky smoke. When the last tendril was sucked in, the light of the symbols abruptly winked out. And the skull was dull again.

Then came the explosion.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry woke up to the feel of extremely valuable books jutting into his ribs. Opening his eyes, he saw a pile of his uncle's irreplaceable tomes had cushioned his landing. Harry blinked for a minute, unsure of how long he'd been unconscious. As he pushed himself up, his back contracted in agony while a sharp pain laced though his hand from the cut he'd made.

"Oh…HELL…" he swore, taking a look around.

The explosion had blasted everything within a two feet diameter around the rings, including Harry himself. The work table was now on its side, the various jars of raw materials that had been sitting on it lay smashed with its contents leaking on to the floor. Even the containers on his shelves were now mostly on the ground in pieces along with the remains of the armoire that now lay face down, partially on top of the rest of Harry's inherited library. The only thing that remained undamaged was the skull, neatly protected within a small circle of calm amidst the chaos of Harry's lab. The wizard's eyes fell on the sigils that were still intact, indicating the spell had been a success.

A jolt of energy shot through the wizard. It had worked. Scrambling up, Harry ignored the ache in his lower back as he limped over. "Bob?" he called. "Are you in there?"

There was no response from the skull, but when Harry picked it up, he could feel the difference. The bone was heavy again and while all traces of his blood were gone from the dark ivory surface, he could feel the slight tremor of power beneath his fingers. For a minute all the wizard could do was hug the skull to his chest.

"Bob? It's me, Harry. Come out."

The skull glowed briefly as a familiar burst of orange spark and smoke pushed out from it. Harry waited expectedly for Bob's familiar form to appear as the spark traveled upward, but instead the smoky glow hovered momentarily, before the tendrils gradually began to take on the vague outline of a man. Once that was more or less defined, distinctive features and colors slowly bled into the black shape. The entire process was achingly slow and Harry found himself holding his breath through it all. The final detail to seep into form was the very familiar pair of pale eyes.

"Bob."

The ghost looked….bewildered. As if he couldn't quite trust what he was looking at. His appearance wasn't disheveled, but rather lacking. He wore only a shirt and trousers and the distinct lack of layers in his wardrobe made him look oddly vulnerable to Harry. His general form also appeared lacking in something. In all the years Harry had known Bob, this was the first time he had really looked like an actual ghost than a solid person.

Looking at him, Harry knew the trickster's words had been true.

"Bob, are you okay?"

The ghost stared at him for a long minute before tentatively replying, "Harry?"

A smile broke out on the wizard's face, the first one in a long time. "Yeah, it's me," he breathed. "Welcome back."

Bob looked down from Harry's beaming face to the manacles that encircled his wrists once again. "They're back," he muttered, quietly. "God…I never thought…I never thought I'd be so happy to see them again." There was a distinct hitch in Bob's voice as the ghost's shape wavered slightly. Harry stepped closer to the spirit, stopping just short of making contact. The air around him felt several degrees colder.

"Bob, it's okay. It's okay," he said, gently.

There was a short laugh. "I've never been so happy to hear that name."

Unable to actually touch the form without pushing his hand through, Harry's hand hovered slightly above Bob's shoulder. The wizard's free hand tightened around the skull that he still held, nestling it closer to him. Bob looked back up at Harry, as if he felt the by proxy embrace. The wizard was trying to appear reassuring but only managed to look worried.

"I'm so sorry," he said, unevenly. "I tried to summon you back when we were all still there. I tried everything I could think of, but then we got transported back."

Harry stared anxiously at Bob who was once again looking back down at his hands, as if waiting for them to suddenly vanish.

"How long has it been?" the ghost asked, softly.

"Six weeks."

Bob frowned. "It felt longer." The spirit's shape blurred and distorted. A sudden fear shot through Harry that Bob would disappear again. Not thinking, he reached out with his hand to grasp Bob's arm and got a handful of nothing. But his fingers immediately chilled to the point of almost hurting as the frigid air that passed through his hand.

Harry snatched his hand back, nearly wincing. Seeing his reaction, Bob moved away.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I can't seem to…adjust." His outline sharpened fractionally, though the air's temperature remained just as cold.

"Don't worry about it," Harry assured. "Bob," he began cautiously. "What was over there?"

The look on Bob's face made Harry regret asking. "It was unrelenting, Harry," he said, hoarsely. "The utter horror stretched on forever. I couldn't see past it and…I was starting to forget…" The ghost trailed off, looking away again.

While logically Harry knew it was impossible, Bob looked tired, as if the effort to keep his form was getting taxing. What was he supposed to suggest to Bob? That he take a nap? Ghosts didn't sleep. But Bob answered that for him with a plaintive request. "If you don't mind, I'd like to return to my skull."

Knowing it was probably the closest to rest that Bob was going to get, Harry silently nodded. He'd barely given his answer before the ghost's form practically dissolved into smoke that trickled back into the skull in Harry's hand.


	6. Chapter 6

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to everyone who has been reading and leaving me reviews. Reviews make the world go 'round, not money...b/c I don't get paid for writing these stories. Anyway, this is the 2nd to last chapter. Enjoy! 

Somehow he felt worse.

Seeing Bob so briefly, only to have him retreat back into his skull left Harry feeling more alone than he'd thought possible after the last month. But resolutely the wizard silently swore not call Bob out unless there was some sort of emergency. He had told the trickster that the ghost would be fine, despite whatever horrors he might have seen on the Other Side. And while there was the slightest flicker of doubt refusing to be squished in Harry's heart, he chose to ignore it.

Instead, the remaining adrenaline in his system kicked in. And the only viable target for his burst of energy was the mess that was strewn about the lab. Gently placing the skull on a shelf that had managed to survive the worst of the blast, Harry pulled open the door to grab some garbage bags.

And found Morgan standing just outside, holding his sword.

"Jesus Christ, Morgan!" Harry exclaimed, nearly falling back into his lab.

The warden's face was set in an expression Harry had often seen: the one he wore when about to engage in combat. "Is he here?" the dark man demanded.

"Uh, yeah, but why are -"

"Be quiet, Dresden!" Morgan ordered. "Step aside now."

The tone didn't leave any room for argument, lest Harry wanted his head separated from his body. Mutely, he moved to the side, allowing the warden to enter into the lab. While Morgan kept his eyes roving around the space, he addressed Harry.

"Where is he? You will hand him over to me this instant."

"Wait, the High Council can't just take him -"

The warden quickly reared on Harry, the lethal point of the sword now poised against the wizard's neck. Despite himself, Harry swallowed hard and resisted the urge to take a step back. "You are in no position to say what the High Council can and cannot do," Morgan growled with cold fury. "Do you have any concept of how much trouble you are in? One wrong sentence from you and I have it in my authority to end you on spot."

"Morgan, listen, just hang on a minute," Harry pleaded. "I know the spell was a little excessive," he admitted, lamely. "But it wasn't black magic and I haven't caused any harm -"

"You call releasing a trickster not doing any harm?" Morgan demanded.

"I….what?"

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "Don't play dumb with me, Dresden. If you're harboring that trickster here.."

"No, really," Harry insisted. "I didn't release anyone other than Bob from the Other Side and I'm not hiding anyone, I swear."

The sword's point remained unwavering at a hair's breath from Harry's neck. Then in one swift motion, Morgan swung the weapon away the wizard's carotid artery and slammed it into the wooden floor. A brief pulse swept through the confines of the lab and by the feel of it, Harry knew Morgan was testing the area to see if he was telling the truth.

"See? No one is here other than us," he said.

The warden's eyes snapped back to the wizard. "That doesn't change the fact that you helped a prisoner of the High Council to escape in exchange for a spell to retrieve the ghost."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry persisted. "I didn't release any trickster!"

"So I'm to believe it's just a coincidence that moments after we detected an energy surge coming from your office, the trickster we were holding, one that _I know for a fact_ you visited, managed to free himself of his bindings and escape?"

Harry's eyes shifted uneasily to the sigils that still remained on his floor. "Uhm, okay, part of that is true," he admitted. "I did visit your prisoner, but I swear I didn't help him escape. He gave me the spell to retrieve Bob. All he asked for in return was that I sing a song for him. That was it."

Morgan's stare clearly expressed the level of stupidity he was accusing Harry of having sunken to. But his gaze soon moved to the rings on Harry's floor. "Explain this," he ordered.

As swiftly and accurately as possible, Harry recited through what had been explained to him regarding each component of the spell. Morgan's eyes remained hardened. "Last we spoke, I recall you agreeing to keep a low profile in your search for Bob. Casting spells that involve blood letting and releasing tricksters from under the authority of the High Council is NOT keeping a low profile!"

"I was out of options!" Harry snapped. "Look, I tried to keep things under wraps, but what was I supposed to do? I couldn't wait around to find the right time to bring Bob back. Not after what the trickster told me what was on the Other Side."

"He's played you for a fool," retorted Morgan. "This spell he gave you might have brought back your ghost, but it's also somehow conveniently removed his bindings, allowing him to bypass his keeper and escape."

"Is…everyone alright?" asked Harry, barely stopping himself from naming Dante. Not that Morgan was remotely taken in.

"Dante's injuries were more to his pride as well as his career," said Morgan, coldly. "He and I both seemed to have had a lapse in good judgment by doing you a favor." Beneath the righteous fury that was all but pouring out of Morgan, Harry saw a glimmer of honest disappointment flickering beneath the anger. He was used to pissing off the warden no end. But the realization that he had disappointed Morgan after the small amount of trust he had put in him made guilt rise up in Harry's throat like bile.

"I know, I'm sorry. I really am," Harry answered, showing a rare moment of sincere contrition in front of the warden. "I should have waited for a more appropriate time, but whatever lies the trickster told me, he wasn't lying about the Other Side. Whatever Bob saw over there it shook him up, Morgan. Badly." he added, softly.

The warden's expression did not soften, but he did re-sheath his sword. "So you have retrieved him." It was less a question and more of a statement.

"Yes," Harry confirmed, worried for a moment that Morgan would demand the ghost be called out as proof. Or perhaps worse, he'd relieve him of the skull all together. But the warden did neither and spared only a glance at the skull that sat silently on the nearby shelf. When he snapped his eyes back to Harry, they had the gleam of officiousness that the wizard recognized so well.

"There will be an investigation," Morgan stated. "Every piece of this debacle will be studied. Until a decision is reached regarding your culpability in this matter, you are forbidden to perform any kind of magic of any sort. If you so much as attempt to scry for a lost cat, we will take that as an admission of guilt. Do you understand me, Dresden?"

Having a vague flashback to 5 years ago when this probation had last been placed on him, Harry nodded wordlessly.


	7. Chapter 7

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Last chapter! Thank you to everyone for reading and leaving me such lovely reviews! 

A week later, a search for the trickster had turned up nothing and Harry took a mental stock of the current state of his affairs. Things were predictably bleak.

A clean up of his mostly destroyed lab revealed that nothing had been really salvageable other than a work bench and his inherited books that now had several ripped pages and broken spines. All his pottery was cracked and useless and any ingredients he had had were now unusable. Not that any of it would have done him any good seeing as how he was prohibited from performing any magic, pending the investigation.

Having had that resource taken away, he knew he wouldn't be much good to Murphy, nor could he re-open his office, which meant no source of income. Any small amount of money he had managed to save in the last five years had been virtually cleaned out in the last two months. And the rent was due soon.

Surprisingly, these things were nearer the bottom of the list of things currently making Harry nervous. Financial as well as Possibly Sentenced to Execution or Other by High Council matters did take up a bulk of his nerves. But he was no stranger to either of these problems and the kind of anxiety they created were depressingly familiar.

Bob was another matter.

The last time Harry had felt any awkwardness around the ghost had been the first few weeks of their meeting. It had taken the then 11 year old Harry awhile to get used to grumpy tones of his undead tutor. But soon he had grown used to, possibly even found some comfort in the sarcastic commentary. It had been a nice distraction against dwelling too much on recent tragedies.

Now the sheer absence of any communication from Bob worried Harry.

He was beginning to regret having made a promise to himself not to force Bob out of his skull. Because it was fast approaching the end of the week and it was only the weight of the skull that assured Harry that the ghost was still in there.

But then a day came when Harry opened the door to his lab to finish sweeping up and found Bob standing over the sigils on the floor. A familiar vest was now added to the ghost's wardrobe, though a jacket was still missing. But Harry took the additional article clothing as a good sign.

"Bob, hey," he began. "How're you feeling?"

"Have you studied these sigils?" asked Bob, ignoring the question. He crouched down, stretching out a hand as if to trace the markings that the Council had ordered Harry not to erase during the investigation as they attempted to figure out just how the trickster had managed to free itself. The wizard noticed the normally present rings were missing from the spectral fingers. "This ring here," he gestured. "The trickster gave you these symbols did he?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry replied, allowing the sidestepping for now. "It was to establish contact with the Other Side. The High Council wardens who took a look at it said the same thing."

"Mmm…yes…" Bob's voice had that familiar, distracted tone it took on when he was preoccupied with thinking on a spell.

"Why? What've you got?" asked Harry, happy with any kind of recognizable habits from the ghost.

"Well, these markings here are what you say they are," said Bob, pointing to the first ring. "But see here where the two rings overlap each other slightly?" Harry leaned in to take a closer look. "If you overlap the sigils completely, you get another set of symbols entirely." Lifting an elegant finger, Bob demonstrated by writing out the first few symbols overlapped. The golden markings glowed, hovering over the original writing.

"What does that mean?" asked Harry.

Bob looked up at Harry from his crouching position, his eyes questioning. "You told Morgan that you gave some of your blood for this spell?"

"Yeah, that was supposed to be what I gave in exchange for getting you back. It wasn't?" said Harry, off of Bob shaking his head.

"Your blood was the lubricant for the actual exchange since the rings weren't drawn to overlap completely. The trickster didn't want to risk you figuring out what the spell's actual purpose by having you write out the sigils over one another."

"But what was the exchange?"

"Part of the overlapping markings have the sign of Narfi on them," said Bob. "Based on what you've told Morgan, it seems in exchange for me, you inadvertently gave to the Other Side the remains of Narfi."

The image of the intestines encircling the trickster's body came clearly to Harry's mind.

"Oh, god. That's how the spell got rid of his bindings."

"It would seem so, yes. A dead ghost for dead remains. How exactly did you word your request when you made your deal?"

"I was specific," said Harry, unable to help the defensive tone slip into his voice. He'd often done the same whenever Bob had challenged the validity of his spell work as a student and old habits died hard. "I specifically said that I wanted a successful spell that would get you back. Permanently. That was the deal."

"You didn't say anything else?"

"No."

"Mmm…"

"What?"

"I'm afraid that's the problem," Bob explained. "You never specified that the spell he gave you couldn't perform other feats. He used that gap in the verbal contract to set this up so he could free himself."

Harry stood, running his hands through his hair. "Yeah, okay. Well, that's that then. The Council's going to kill me."

"May I give you a suggestion?" asked Bob, gently.

"Fire away."

"Tell the Council about how the trickster got free. Explain how it found its loophole in your request," advised the ghost. "It's been around for centuries, Harry. You're not the first one to be caught in the wording of the wager."

"Well, it's nice to know I was taken in by a pro," sighed the wizard. "But I guess giving the Council a point in the right direction couldn't hurt. Thanks, Bob."

The ghost gave him a small nod.

"So, back to my first question: how're you feeling?"

"Not much of anything, really. Seeing as how I'm dead," replied Bob, dryly, though the sarcasm lacked its usual power.

"Bob."

The ghost looked down, apologetically for a moment. He gazed at his hands and rubbed a finger, contemplatively before a ring that Harry recognized slowly formed on it. "You know, it's funny," he said, quietly. "In all the years I'd been trapped to my skull, I'd only ever wanted to be free. To finally have my soul move on. But I never gave much thought to where my soul would go."

He glanced back up, his gaze not having lost that haunted sheen since having returned from the Other Side. "I suppose I should have guessed where considering the catalog of my sins."

"Bob, you don't know for sure that's where you'll go," Harry interrupted. "I mean, we SENT you out there. You didn't go there naturally. That might not be the final place you end up once you're free."

"If I am freed," corrected Bob. "And strangely, for once, I'm not sure which is the better option." Seeing the look in Harry's eyes at his words, the ghost shook his head slightly. "But that's something for me to worry about."

"Bob, come on."

"No, Harry. These are my concerns. You have done quite enough on my behalf already. And I don't believe I ever even thanked you. Which is rather rude of me."

"Well, you've been preoccupied," Harry offered, lightly.

"Even so. Thank you, Harry."

"You'd do the same for me," said Harry, echoing Bob himself from not too long ago.

"Yes, I suppose I would," Bob replied, warmly. He gave Harry a small smile and the wizard felt his week improve enormously.

A few days after Harry informed the Council on how the trickster made his escape, they made their ruling. While being found guilty of aiding a prisoner's escape, it was agreed that the wizard Harry Dresden did so without his own knowledge, having been the victim of a trickster's wager. A crime many had fallen to before him. In the end, Harry, along with Dante Arrias were put on a year's probation where neither could conduct any magic unless it was pre-approved by either their superior or the warden assigned to them. In Harry's case, he'd be putting all his requests into Morgan. The sheer amount of paperwork to look forward to did not please either party. But Harry wasn't about to complain.

It was also noted that there were a few of those outside of the Council and outside of their jurisdiction who were not too pleased at the trickster's release. The Council firmly informed Harry that should any of these…individuals come after the wizard as punishment for his part in all of this, the Council would not offer him any help whatsoever. And any battle waged against him, Harry would have to fight on his own.

So all in all, Harry felt like nothing much had changed.

But Bob had felt some anxiety over additional forces now targeting the wizard and had cautioned Harry to strengthen his defenses. The wizard did so without argument. Partly to please the ghost, who was now wearing his customary jackets again, though the ascots had yet to appear. And partly because he knew there was some validity behind the concern.

Thanks to the sentencing, even a scrying meant having to fill out a necessary request to Morgan for approval, so Harry found himself having to keep his caseload next to nothing, leaving an incredible amount of spare time. And despite an improvement in appearance, Harry caught Bob staring off into nothing during these lulls, lost in his thoughts, his expression troubled. But it seemed to be improving and Harry took Bob's recent comments about the appalling amount of stacked dishes in the sink to be an optimistic sign.

Then the day finally came for Harry to bite the bullet and make a call to his landlord's office. He rehearsed in his mind what he would say in regards as to why he would be late with the rent this month. If he paid it all. But he was informed by a puzzled secretary that Harry's non-existent lawyer had dropped by with the month's rent earlier that week.

Soon after that, a letter arrived to the office.

_Dear Harry,_

_I think I forgot to tell you when you came to visit me that the spell might pack a bit of a kick. Sorry if the explosion caught you off guard. Totally my bad. Hope the rent made up for some of the damage done to your place._

_Heard the Council tore you a new one. Don't get hung up about someone coming after you. Not everyone is upset that I'm out and about again. Some are actually quite pleased. Especially after I told a few interested parties the reason why Ancient Mai had me removed from my original prison._

_But anyway, I'm just rambling on. _

_Give my regards to your ghost. I bet his time on the Other Side was quite an eye opener. I don't envy his fate. If either of you are interested in possibly changing that, I wouldn't mind doing business with you two again. It was certainly fun for me._

_Catch you later._

The letter was unsigned, but before Harry could read it over a second time, it vanished in a puff of smoke and a musical flourish that sounded suspiciously like "Moon River" slightly off key.

"Very funny," muttered the wizard.

THE END


End file.
